Tool Belt
by McGinnis INC
Summary: Due to a technological error they met. One girl stricken with agoraphobia. One boy with nothing to do. One tool belt. LxOc Two-shot.
1. Part I

**A/N: This'll be a short story, but I might expand. It all depends. Right now, I plan it to just be a two-shot.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

* * *

**Tool Belt**

**Part I**

* * *

It wasn't a particularly dreary day, yet L hadn't felt like taking a walk, cracking a window for some fresh air, or even dwelling on the fact that England was having a rare sunny day. In anyone who was remotely normal, the presence of the sun would be a catalyst for excitement. However, the cause of this eighteen year old's semi-excitement (in comparison to the mountains of sweets he consumed daily, nothing seemed to cause him much excitement anymore) was the fact that he had just received a call from Quillish Wammy, his personal… everything. The last piece to the puzzle could be put in and there was no way that Andrew Webster could escape: L had solid proof. It was the beauty of the solved riddle that eclipsed the beauty of the day, to the detective.

L flicked his fingers over the keys on his keyboard, back hunched, his body contorted into his usual crouch, before pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket. He hit speed dial, heard the click of someone answering on the other end and simply stated, "Issue the arrest warrant," before hanging up. The police could take in from there.

L hunched forward even more, leaning to click at his laptop, exiting each window. He could perhaps catch a few hours worth of a cat nap, as it would take Quillish at least two hours to collect cases that would even vaguely interest L. He deserved a break, anyway.

It wasn't until he'd finished exiting each window and had reached his desktop (a blank white) that he noticed a window he'd minimized. Pulling it up, he tensed before noting that he had muted the webcam conference; for a moment he had the most frightful thought that anyone who happened by the computer (that apparently Roger had abandoned) at Wammy's House could hear everything that had happened over the last three hours.

L recalled getting into contact with Roger, the older gentleman only able to see the gothic initial, while L was allowed a full-on view of Roger. L had called to discuss some of the children at the orphanage, filtering through for those worthy of being called his successor. He'd received the files on every child currently in residence at Wammy's a few months ago, but wanted to personally discuss a few of them with Roger. L would not make the same mistake twice; BB had been enough of a problem. It was in the middle of the conference that Quillish had called and L had bid Roger farewell, minimizing the window instead of exiting it.

L always left a computer at Wammy's, located on the desk of his old room. (Quillish had promised L that he would always have a place at the orphanage, and thus, his room had always been left vacant). A signal was sent to Roger through his phone whenever L needed to talk to him. Roger would then use the laptop stationed in L's abandoned room to confer with L. It was an extremely safe connection, and had only been used twice since it had been placed there. L had always suspected that one day one of the children would find their way into the empty room and turn on the laptop.

The room was in almost complete darkness, the curtains shut closed just the way L always had, so that the unused bed, empty dresser, and vacant nightstand were not visible. There was a faint glow coming from a corner of the room, however. L leaned closer to get a better look. A figure seemed to be cocooned in a nest of blankets, and the light was coming from what looked to be a book-light, which was connected to a book the person seemed to be reading. One of the blankets was pulled over his or her head. The face and gender was indistinguishable. The figure was hunched over his or her book, not to L's extreme, however.

Suddenly a high beeping sounded in the dark room and L watched, thumb coming to rest at his lips, as the figure seemed to jump a few feet in the air. The figure seemed to recover quickly, clasping what seemed to be one of his or her watches (the figure wore one on each wrist). He or she stood, marking his or her place, and gathered the blankets: at least seven of them. He or she kept one of the blankets up over his or her head, the face still able to peek out. The figure mumbled irritated, "God Maggie, when did you become a space cadet?"

L smiled around his thumb. Female. He continued to watch as she slinked over to the nearest window, and slowly pulled back the curtain. She silently observed the outside and L noticed that her hand was twitching or perhaps- no, her hand was shaking. Perchance she suffered from agoraphobia? How… interesting. She quickly blocked out the sun and swiftly paced to the door, reaching the knob and shutting off the book-light.

It seemed, in the perfect darkness there was a faint glow admitting from the webcam. L realized that the 'L' initial must not be present on the screen: the light would be much brighter. It had probably gone to a blank black screen. This faint glow was noticed by the female. She paused and turned around, finally glancing at the laptop. L could barely see the frown through the darkness, but he nonetheless saw the motion of her lips turning downwards. This only confirmed his theory: she came here often and when she did so the laptop was never on.

Reaching out to the light-switch on the wall beside the door, she flicked the lights on. She took a step forward and switched the weight of the blankets from one hand so that it was distributed between both of her arms. L let his eyes take in her clothes: horizontally striped pajama pants, hoodie….. a… tool belt? L grinned. How positively eccentric. He didn't recognize her from any of the profiles he'd been searching through, so she must be new.

She sat at the desk where the computer was placed. Leaning forward, she gazed into the lens of the camera. From L's point of view, her eye took up the entire screen. Her irises were a green-ish-blue with gold flecks. She pulled back and tilted her head, frowning deeply. "The light means it's on, right?" she mumbled, seemly to herself.

L decided that even if she was talking to herself, he would answer her anyways, "Why, yes it does."

She screamed and jumped away, falling back and out of the chair, out of the screen. A crash sounded and L figured that she had fallen onto the floor. L continued, as though he hadn't scared the living daylights out of the girl, "Tell me, do you suffer from agoraphobia?"

Suddenly her voice sounded, but no person appeared back in the screen, "A-a-agore-what? Who are you?" She added in a whisper, "Oh my god, they've found me."

"Agoraphobia: noun; a condition characterized by an irrational fear of public or open spaces. And you may call me Leroy," (It was his current codename, and came easily to his lips) "Are you certain you were allowed into Wammy's, if you don't even know what agoraphobia is?"

This seemed to ruffle her feathers. Her face suddenly appeared in the screen, her top lip pulled back in a mild grimace. It appeared she was kneeling on the floor, "Listen here, Leroy, I really don't appreciate being insulted by someone who just scared the fucking crap out of me and has yet to apologize."

L frowned in distaste, removing his thumb from his lips and cupping his knee, "That kind of language is unnecessary, but I suppose you have a point; my apologies. May I request your name?"

"You may,"

There was a silence before L gave a wicked grin. He had figured he was setting himself up for something like that. He coughed to hide his chuckle; this girl definitely had an attitude. "What is your name?"

"Mallory," she answered almost instantaneously. "Mah-lory," she added, for pronunciations sake.

L scratched his kneecap, "But I distinctly heard you refer to yourself as "Maggie"."

She didn't even flinch. Instead, she just looked annoyed, "That's what my mother used to call me."

"Ah, so it's your middle name," L stated.

"Nooo," she dragged out the word, "It's what my mother called me."

L tilted his head, and even though she couldn't see it, Mallory seemed to sense that this answer wasn't sufficient and added, "My father named me when he was drunk. He named me after Thomas Mallory- you know, the guy who wrote Le Morte D'Arthur? It's French- means 'luckless'. My mother always said that I was too pretty to be called 'luckless' and that my acting skills could rival those of Maggie Smith's."

"Ah," L grunted in response. He wasn't sure if she was lying. Her face was open, but there was a layer he couldn't quite comprehend.

A loud but melodious chiming rang out on Mallory's side of the connection. She jumped, but L, used to the dinner bell, didn't even blink. She hesitated, turning towards the door, before glancing back at the computer. L figured that Mallory wasn't done investigating this talking laptop. L removed his hand from his kneecap, and grabbed his teacup, which had long turned cold. He sipped, made a face, and put it back down next to the computer. "Go eat," he advised. She looked too pale to be healthy… perhaps not as deathly as L himself, but certainly not the proper shade for a young lady like herself.

She finally stood, climbing out of her kneeling position, "Will you still be here?"

L tilted his head, amused, "The computer, yes, probably and I suppose I could leave the connection open if you would like… but I can't promise that Roger won't remember that he left the laptop on and come disconnect it himself."

Mallory still hesitated, "You promise?"

L grinned at her childish behavior, "Yes, of course."

Though she couldn't see his face, Mallory still returned the smile and trudged out of the room, pausing at the door, both to glance back at the laptop and to peek out of the room, wary of what was lurking out in the hallway. She slipped a hand into her tool belt as she exited. How interesting.

L stood, left a note for Quillish not to turn off the computer, and went to the bedroom to take a nap. This girl was interesting. He also wanted very much to know what was in that tool belt.

* * *

L had barely shut his eyes (or perhaps that was just how it seemed) before the door to his hotel room was opened. L reluctantly got up and walked out to the main room to greet his constant companion. He glanced up at Quillish, as he entered the room and nodded to the short, stout, white-haired man who had raised him. As the founder of the orphanage, Quillish was well-versed in all the residence, so L decided to inquire about this unusual girl. Perhaps Quillish knew what was in that tool belt.

"Good afternoon, Leroy," Quillish greeted, "I was just informed that Mr. Webster was apprehended."

L nodded, "Good, good. Quillish?"

"Yes, Mr. Leroy?" he answered.

"Tell me about a girl at the orphanage named Mallory."

Quillish frowned, "How did you-"

"A technological mistake on my part."

Quillish did not push the matter further, "Mallory, well, her stay at Wammy's House will only be temporary. She's from the states. She is currently staying there just so that the Federal Attorney's in America can continue to gather evidence. She is a witness in a mafia trial. She'll eventually be sent back to the United States to testify, and then be sent into witness protection."

L murmured, "That explains her paranoia."

Quillish nodded sadly, "Yes. I don't believe she likes it there. She was above average at her public school- straight A's, top six percent in her class. At Wammy's… she's struggling. I do believe she is the last in her class. And she avoids the outdoors. It saddens me that she doesn't feel safe."

L shrugged and walked his slouched walk back towards the bedroom, "Don't take it personally, she probably wouldn't feel safe in an armed military base."

Quillish nodded and L continued, "I will go rest now. Could you make some chocolate-chip pancakes when I wake up? And can you get me her file?"

"Yes, Leroy. And I see your note," Quillish smiled, his eyes crinkling, "You will continue to stay in contact with Mallory?"

L didn't respond. It would have been an entirely unnecessary gesture.

* * *

L awoke a few hours later feeling extremely refreshed. He'd never needed much sleep. His computer had since gone to a screen saver so he gently pecked the space bar. Munching on pancakes, he observed the new surroundings. Mallory must have returned after dinner and taken the laptop to another room. The wall paper was a periwinkle with aqua trim. How… quaint. There was also some background noise, but nothing he could decipher.

L took time to look over her file: Female. Seventeen. October 23. Blood type O. Middle class. Chicago. Mother. Father. Two younger brothers. Two cats. A dog. A newt. Brunette. Blue eyes. Straight A's in every class except Math. L only glanced over the picture provided: taller than average, top heavy, flabby arms, big breasts, distinct waist, wide hips, thick thighs, long legs. L knew these things were wasted on him; he had never really cared about how someone looked.

In comparison to the girl he had seen just this afternoon, in these pictures her complexion was creamy pale, instead of deathly pale, with a splattering of tan freckles concentrated on her face, shoulders, and forearms. Maggie Elisabeth Garrett.

"Leroy?" L glanced at the laptop, speak of the devil.

L placed the file down on the table next to him, "Yes, Miss Mallory?"

She smiled, shifting the laptop a little to the left, "You weren't there. I was worried. Not a ton, but enough. I hope Roger doesn't mind that I took this laptop…"

"I'm certain he won't mind," L smiled.

Mallory had placed her hoodie's hood up over her hair, "You can call me Mal."

"I'm not certain if you are aware, but that means 'bad' in French…"

Mallory nodded, "Je parle français."

"Ah," L nodded. How… interesting.

"Can I give you a nickname?" she asked innocently.

L frowned, bringing a thumb to his lips, "What did you have in mind? You have no idea what I look like, and most nicknames are derived based on physical characteristics."

Mallory's expression didn't change, "You are forgetting the nicknames based off the shortening of names. I was thinking of shortening Leroy to…maybe Roy… or … L."

L sighed. He had thought Roger wouldn't slip up, or that some of the kids who were aware that the great detective had once stayed at Wammy's House would be smart enough to not mention it. Or… Quillish. L sighed. That meddling old man, L thought, affectionately. Quillish must have spoken with Roger and informed him that it was fine to tell Mallory that she was speaking to L. He would have to have a discussion with Quillish later; he was always trying to get L to socialize more.

L pecked away at his keyboard and watched the exact second when Mallory's face slipped. It was the exact moment when the initial L was so famous for took the place of the black screen on her laptop. So she hadn't been certain to begin with, it had been an assumption. "Don't you find it annoying when people sneak around and find out things you don't want them to know?" L asked, then smirked softly, "I assure you, Miss Garrett, I am far above that."

Unlike when she realized that she was actually speaking with the famous detective, her face didn't even flinch. L's smirk grew… Maggie Smith, indeed.

When Mallory/Maggie did not respond L began, "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, may I ask you a question?"

Her eyebrows shot up, "You may."

"What exactly is in that tool belt of yours?"


	2. Part II

**A/N: Final part… Finally. Finals suck, thank goodness they are over. I'm getting a little too addicted to one-shots and drabbles… I kinda wanna do something with Mello… we'll see, now won't we? I apologize for the vaguely depressing and sudden ending. I just felt like it needed to stop.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

**Tool Belt**

**Part II**

She seemed vaguely surprised at his question but smiled anyways. The kids at Wammy's were usually too eccentric to care much about the other children or their odd habits. It was nice to have someone take an interest in her. Reaching into her tool belt, she removed a bottle of mace, a tazer, a flashlight, a small bottle of tear gas, fake identification documents, a first aid kit, two cell phones (both untraceable), a ski mask, a flare rocket, a compass, and a Swiss army knife.

L tilted his head slightly, mildly shocked by just how precautious this girl was. "You are very… paranoid," he informed her unnecessarily.

Mal simply scowled and began to stuff the things back into her tool belt, "Yeah, well, people are actively trying to find and kill me…" she continued collecting the items, avoiding looking at the camera. L was unable to get a clear look at her face but he figured she was upset on a certain level. "I just, well, I thought that you would understand."

He licked his knife clean of syrup before saying, "I suppose I do, but perhaps not to your extreme." L was about to add that he had better resources that enabled him to hide his identity easily, but Mal asked,

"Can I see you face?"

"No. Absolutely not."

Mal pouted softly, "That isn't fair. You have probably already read my file, so you know almost everything about me and you can see my face and hear my real voice. All I get is an initial and a synthetic voice."

"Life," L quoted, "Isn't fair."

"Then tell me how old you are."

L sighed loud enough so she could hear, "I can't-"

She didn't let him finish, "Yeah, yeah, I get it: you can't tell me." She stood and walked out of the camera shot only to return a few moments later with a college calculus textbook, which she opened and began to thumb through.

L smirked, so impatient, this girl, "Actually, I was going to say, "I can't tell you specifics". I can in fact inform you that I am an adult."

Mal snorted and paused at a page, glancing up, "That's helpful. You could be eighteen, or a perverted old geezer." She scrunched her nose, making a face at the camera, "I need to study."

L smiled, and spoke with a teasing edge to his voice, "Yes, you do. You're terribly failing that class."

He regretted his tease almost instantly, she seemed very hurt. The next time he spoke he chose his words carefully. Having a friend was so much work. She didn't look up as he said, "I imagine it is very hard for you, jumping from high school advanced algebra to college calculus."

She sighed and finally looked up, "Yeah… and I didn't even like math to begin with." She sighed, dropping her gaze again, "But, really L-"

"Please continue to refer to me as Leroy; for both of our safety."

She pulled a face again, "Fine. Leroy. Anyways, I really do need to study, so can I talk to you tomorrow?"

L dragged his finger across the syrup covered plate before sucking the sweet confection off his finger, "Why?" he asked.

She didn't even bother to look away from the book, "Why what?"

"Why do you still wish to correspond with me?"

This question sparked Mal's interest enough to make her gaze lift, though not to the eye of the camera where she had always looked before. Instead, her gaze landed on the black 'L' that marred her white screen as though if she looked hard enough at the initial, she might see the actual man it stood for.

"Hm…" She trailed off, "Good question… Why are you still putting up with me?"

L smiled, "Good question."

* * *

L managed to solve two more cases before nightfall. Quillish calmly informed him that a break was in order and L had better sleep or else. L found sleep to be a very petty thing indeed, but only when he wasn't tired and instead decided to bother his new friend. Though he had told her he would contact her the next day, boredom was a demon not even the greatest detective in the world could overcome. And thus, L sat at the laptop he had reserved especially for Mallory and began munching on a banana split.

L maximized the screen and took note that her laptop was still placed in her room, though she was nowhere in sight. L's fingers reached for the unmute button that would enable her to hear him, just as she walked into the camera shot. L immediately halted.

Apparently Miss Garrett had been in the middle of changing. L realized that she probably thought there was no reason to worry- she probably locked her door and her room had no windows. It was a secure place and she had trusted that L wouldn't reappear until tomorrow.

She crossed the room in nothing but her socks and her unzipped hoodie, the hood pulled up over her hair and her naked breasts displayed. She reached her dresser and bent to grab a pair of pajama pants (these ones with black and pink vertical stripes) from a bottom drawer and slipped them on. L noted, with an interest that he could only describe as less-than-virtuous, that she had not put on any sort of underwear. She then yanked a t-shirt from a top drawer and threw in onto her bed. Reaching for her hood, with apparently every intention of pulling it down, she finally noticed that the 'L' that signaled the detectives presence was illuminating the screen.

Her eyes widened and her hands flew to cover her bare chest, pulling the unzipped hoodie tight around her bust. Her face turned a bright red as she fumbled with the zipper, hasting to cross the room and slam the laptop shut- succeeding in blocking L's view.

Minutes later she lifted the lid again, her face a pink now. Perhaps she was calming down, L hoped. L noticed that under her zipped hoodie she had put on a t-shirt and a bra as well and the hood was pulled farther forward than usual. He wondered whether she had also put some underwear on.

"You bastard-" she began only to be cut off by L.

"There is no need for such language, Miss Mallory, it was an honest mistake."

She huffed, "Oh? Getting formal, are we, after all you've seen. I'm insulted," she snarked, "And don't even think about apologizing, I won't forgive you. Ever."

L bit his thumb, smiling, "Why would I apologize? I said it was an honest mistake: your honest mistake. If anything, you should be apologizing." At her indignant, "huh?!" he continued, "You were well aware that a man could see into your room at any moment and you refused to take the necessary precautions."

She stood, furious, her cheeks skipping red and going straight to a purple. She began to pace haphazardly about the room.

L sighed, "If it comforts you any, it gave me no pleasure to see you naked."

L seemed to realize his mistake as Mal quickly spun to face him. She opened her mouth, but before she could begin to cuss him out he added, "What I meant was that I'm almost eighty-five percent certain that I'm asexual. There is a ten percent chance that I'm heterosexual and a five percent chance that I am homosexual. That display, which I suppose a straight man or a homosexual woman would have enjoyed, was entirely wasted on me. Rest assured, you are very… proportionate."

This seemed to quell her for the moment, though the coloring of her face stayed a bright purple. But L figured it didn't have anything to do with her anger. Hm. Teenage girls were so fickle.

She huffed and crossed her arms, sitting again. "I still think you are a perverted old geezer."

L chuckled, wouldn't it surprise her to find that he was only two years older than her?

When they finally parted ways, L paused and waited her to stand and walk to her bed before disconnecting the webcam. He hadn't noticed any sort of panty line, whatsoever.

* * *

When L slept, he always dreamed, as though his mind simply couldn't stop working. He always had lucid dreams, of course, because logic would overtake his mind and remind him when certain occurrences were illogical.

So, when he finally collapsed from exhaustion some hours later, he knew he was dreaming the second she walked into his hotel room.

Because, you see, Mallory would never be in the same room with L, nor would she be wearing her striped pajama pants or her hoodie, with the hood pulled down for once. L realized suddenly, in that moment, that he had never seen her hair exposed except for in the pictures in her file. How disheartening.

Suddenly she was standing in the main room of the hotel, then they were both in the bedroom, the tool belt unbuckled and discarded on the floor, L fumbling with the zipper of her hoodie only to find, after unzipping it, that she wore nothing –absolutelypositivelynothing- under it. L's hands reached into those striped pajama pants and Mal grasped at the zipper of his jeans. All the while, their lips continued working against each others. Finally, when L's jeans were tugged down around his knees and she was working on getting into his boxers, arching against his own exploring fingers, did L jolt awake.

Sitting up, he was quite surprised to find that his pants were suddenly too tight. Bringing a hand to his face, he also realized that he was flushed. He had hoped he could just bypass teenage hormones. Apparently not.

He wasn't even sure how his subconscious could concoct these sensations; he couldn't even remember touching a female, even platonically. L stood and walked, quite gingerly to open a window, letting the cool morning air deal with his... situation.

Perhaps he should rethink those percents… and why exactly he continued to stay in contact with Mal.

* * *

Months passed, and L began to wonder when exactly Mallory would be parting with Wammy's House. Quillish had said that her stay was only temporary. L got his answer when Roger sent a text message to Quillish. Miss Garrett would be taken back to America the next day to testify against the mafia.

L, who had been snacking on a piece of cake when he heard this, left his perch for a moment to grab his laptop. A twenty page essay was due the next day and so Mal was dwarfed by two three foot piles of books and a nest of papers. L wondered why she would even bother doing it if she knew she would be leaving. Like always, her hair was hidden beneath a hood.

"Mal?" L inquired, attempting to get her attention.

Mallory glanced up and responded with, "Yeah?"

L took a bite of his cake, "When were you going to tell me?"

"Never," she responded immediately. She paused for a moment, "Well, maybe not. Probably tonight or something."

L bit his thumb, before munching on his cake instead, "You don't seem worried."

Mal pulled herself closer, abandoning her essay for the time being, "I'm scared out of my wits, Leroy."

"I can imagine. You dislike even walking by windows," L set his cake aside. "How do you intend on travelling right to where they want you?"

She picked up her pencil and bit at the eraser. "Well," she began, "I don't know. I'll endure."

L knew he would try to dissuade her from testifying. There had already been two attempts on her life before she had been removed to England, and no doubt they would try again.

"Third time's the charm," L quoted.

She flinched, "Thanks, Leroy. But luck also comes in threes. Maybe I'll survive this one too."

"And if there are two attempts while you are there?" L asked, unrelenting, "I don't recall luck coming in fours."

She dropped her head onto the desk, which was the worst thing she could have done. L had expected her to rant and rave about how he was wrong and how she was going and there was nothing he could do and pretend not to listen to him, but recall his words late that night while she was up worrying, like he knew she would be and then decide to stay home, to stay in England and to stay safe.

From her slouched position she mumbled, "They finally have enough evidence because they found another witness." She lifted her head and L was surprised to find tears falling from her eyes and snot dripping from her nose. "He's seven, Leroy. He's a little boy and he's so much braver than me."

L bit his thumb till it was bleeding, "He's young. He probably doesn't realize how much his life is in danger."

Mal groaned, "Oh my God, L." He didn't correct her. "They have taken so much from me already!" Her voice took on a desperate tone, "My family, my friends, my home, my piece of mind, my mental health! I will not let them take my morals too!" She took a shuddering breath. "What those bastards did was wrong. They will get away with it if I don't do something. I have to at least _try_, right?"

L didn't respond. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to settle his thoughts. Suddenly, he heard something click and opened his eyes slowly to watch Mal lift her unbuckled belt into view of the camera. She had wiped the snot with the sleeve of her hoodie and smudged at the tear-tracks.

"I want you to have this, should- if, I mean, if something happens to me, I want you to have this. I'm not going to bring it with me… I doubt it would be of any real help, it was more just a bit of a baby blanket… I can't think of anyone else who would appreciate it, so, take it." Then she stood and went to close the lid of the laptop before pausing, "In case something does happen, I want you to know, um, that I- I lo- um." She sighed. "I think you are a wonderful person. So, goodbye Leroy."

L didn't hesitate, "L," he offered.

She smiled and nodded, "Goodbye… L."

* * *

L busied himself with new case after new case after new case. He wondered often whether Mallory was happy, content, or at least safe. However, he never attempted to find out. His logic was that there was nothing that he could really do.

Quillish sat shuffling through some papers while L sat crouched as usual, clicking at his computer. Suddenly a beeping struck through the air and Quillish pulled out his phone. A few seconds passed, as Quillish listened, before his eyes travelled over to L, who was watching him carefully.

Quillish said, "Yes, I understand. Thank you," and hung up.

There was a momentary silence in which L and Quillish simply stared at each other before Quillish opened his mouth, "L-"

L cut him off, "You don't have to say it, Quillish. I already know."

L turned back to his work, mumbling, "Third time's the charm."


	3. Announcement

**Hey, lovely people who enjoyed this story,**

* * *

**First off, you're all wonderful.**

**You all indulged that bizarre technology-based relationship I came up with between two people who are both kind of mentally damaged and didn't even complain about how relatively unfulfilling the ending of this two-shot was. Which is why I've decided to indulge you and post the, I guess, neglected third chapter of this story, which makes everything a little bit more fulfilling.**

**Basically, it's for the hopeless (or, in my case – hopeful) romantics out there who squeal when a romance comedy has a happy ending.**

**So, yeah, one-shot sequel has been posted.**

**Please enjoy.**

* * *

**- Ginny**


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